The Fall of the Readers Page 11

  And each of the Readers had brought a labyrinthine, gargantuan animals of every description, all black as onyx. There was a spider and a rat the size of a dog, an ebony snake and towering, black-furred bear. One old man, so thin as to be almost skeletal, had a centipede wound around and around him like a cloak.

  “How?” Alice said. “They—”

  “They have a back door.” Ending’s voice, a deep, sibilant purr behind Alice. Alice turned to find the huge cat stalking forward, starlight rippling on her fur. “It requires all the old Readers to agree to open it, and it’s been centuries since they agreed on anything.”

  “Millennia,” said Dex’s master conversationally. “It’s a historic occasion.”

  “How did you get here?” Alice said quietly to Ending.

  “This is a labyrinth,” Ending said. “With Ashes here to use as an anchor, I can push my way through. When I felt my brothers and sisters arriving . . .”

  Ashes climbed up Alice’s back and perched on her shoulder, his claws gripping tighter than usual. She stood stock-still, trying to think. The power flowing off the old Readers was palpable, giving the air a hot, greasy feel. Any one of them would be more than a match for the apprentices.

  “Alice Creighton.” The old man she’d seen with Geryon spoke, his voice deep and booming. “Do you understand what you tried to do? To alter the Great Binding? You risk everything.”

  “I understand,” Alice said. “You’ve enslaved the labyrinthine, just like you enslave every other creature that falls within your reach. I’m putting an end to it.”

  “Stupid girl,” Soranna’s master said. “You have no idea what the consequences would be.”

  “You did not know the world before the binding,” one of the others said. “Magic running wild, humanity at the mercy of creatures from other worlds.”

  “Don’t tell me this is about protecting humanity,” Alice said. “None of you cares one bit about the people in the real world. This is about power, just as it always has been. You’re afraid of losing a little bit of power.” She took a deep breath. “But where has power ever gotten you? Locked in your fortresses, afraid to step outside in case one of your colleagues attacks you?”

  “I have lived for three thousand years,” said the childlike Reader, voice high and piping. “I have not done so by being incautious.”

  “Or kind,” another Reader rumbled. “You are young. These emotions pass away, with enough experience. Live a few hundred years and you’ll understand.”

  “Not that you’re going to get the chance,” said Soranna’s master sourly.

  “Enough,” said the man who’d first spoken. “You will tell us what has become of Geryon, and what happened to the Ouroborean.”

  “Geryon is trapped where he can’t hurt anyone,” Alice said, chin raised defiantly. “And I destroyed the Ouroborean myself.”

  “Lies,” one of the Readers spat.

  “Let me take her,” said another. “We’ll soon have answers.”

  “Take me, then.” Alice gripped her threads tight, power thrumming through them. “Come on!”

  Something moved in the corner of her vision. She turned just slightly, not willing to take her eyes off the old Readers, and saw Dex had stepped up beside her, silver caryatid armor shimmering into being. Her hands held long silver swords. On the other side, Michael came forward as well, hovering knives appearing around his head.

  “We’re all going to die, you know,” Alice said, in a low voice.

  “We know,” Soranna said from behind her. “I’ll guard your back.”

  Flicker joined them, holding out a hand to Dex. She conjured a moon-stuff spear to replace the one he’d lost, and he hefted it thoughtfully.

  “So,” he said, voice crackling like a campfire. “Which one do we hit first?”

  “A pity,” Dex’s master said. “She was a truly promising apprentice.”

  “The labyrinthine has corrupted them,” another Reader said. “They are deceitful creatures.”

  “They are indeed,” Ending said, stepping forward.

  She growled, and the sound got louder and louder, until it seemed to fill the world, a low, urgent throb like a motorcycle engine. After a moment, she was joined by other labyrinthine. A rising hiss from the snake, a low, menacing caw from the crow and a screech from the eagle, an ominous clicking from the centipede. The labyrinthine turned to face their masters, as one, with claws or fangs or horns raised. Several of the Readers retreated a step, and Alice felt the air grow thick with power as they summoned their defenses.

  “What is this?” the childlike Reader said. “Have you gone mad?”

  “Do you really think you can stand against us?” Soranna’s master said. Arcs of energy like tiny bolts of lightning already crackled down her arms.

  “In the world outside,” Ending said, “we could not. But this is a labyrinth. The Grand Labyrinth. And we are labyrinthine!” Her voice grew louder with each word, until it hurt Alice’s ears. “HERE WE HAVE THE POWER.”

  “Unless we release the Great Binding,” said the Reader who’d first spoken. His goat stood in front of him, head lowered to present his horns, but the man looked at Ending. “You know what will happen when the prisoner is freed. Is that what you want?”

  “Circumstances,” Ending said, “have changed.” Her lips pulled back, revealing long, ivory teeth. “We don’t need you anymore.”

  A tide of black like living ink spread out from Ending’s paws. It split into streams, reaching out to each of the Readers between blinks. Ending was tearing the labyrinth, not connecting here with there but opening a path to nowhere, a void outside of space itself. The darkness wasn’t even black; it was simply nothing, an absence, a hole in the world.

  Power lanced and crackled from the Readers, bound creatures invoked and wards triggering. Lightning, fire, ice, and pure force lashed out, but all too late. The void was on them, at their feet, and they were drawn into it with terrifying speed, sucked down as though yanked from below. A few screams and curses were cut off abruptly.

  Then the old Readers were just gone, as though they had never been. It had all happened so fast, Alice didn’t know how to react.

  “Wh . . .” Dex’s voice was trembling. “What did you do to them?”

  “As Alice so elegantly put it,” Ending said, “I sent them somewhere they won’t be able to hurt anyone. The void outside of space and time.”

  “Can they get out?” Alice said.

  “Not unless we open the way.” Ending sounded very pleased with herself. “All their power is useless there. There is no time, so nothing can happen. The perfect prison.”

  “Then . . . we won?” Michael said, as usual getting right to the heart of things.

  “Not yet,” Ending said. “Alice must assume control of the Great Binding before it unravels.”

  All of the labyrinthine had turned to regard her, a circle of black animals with glowing eyes. Alice let her threads slip from her mental grasp and looked at Ending. “Now?”

  “Please,” Ending said.

  “Was this . . .” She took a deep breath. “Was this your plan all along?”

  Ending nodded. “I am sorry I could not tell you. To even mention it aloud risked everything. I will explain, but please—the binding. If it comes undone, all of this has been for nothing.”

  “If I’m strong enough,” Alice said.

  “You are,” Ending said. “I believe in you.”

  “You can do it, Sister Alice,” Dex said. “The auguries have always been in your favor.”

  “Of course she can do it,” Soranna said.

  “Put an end to this,” Flicker said.

  Only Michael looked uncertain, glancing from Alice to Ending and back again. His lips moved, as though he were trying to figure something out.

  “Ashes,” Ending said. “Come he
re and let Alice work.”

  “Good luck,” Ashes said quietly. He jumped from Alice’s shoulder and padded to stand beside his mother.

  Alice took a deep breath and walked toward the standing stone, aware of the intense glowing eyes of the labyrinthine on her back. Their stares felt predatory, somehow, and she had to remind herself it was only natural. Their whole future depends on this. They put their trust in me. That was steadying, oddly. For better or worse, people kept putting their trust in her, and the only thing to do was try not to let them down.

  When she touched the stone, she could feel the binding shudder. The threads that had led to the old Readers were cut off, and without the constant flow of power the whole structure was slowly coming to pieces. The prisoner, far below, shivered and shifted in its sleep.

  Working slowly, careful not to damage anything, Alice gathered the drifting ends of the cut threads. Ending had explained to her what to do, but in truth it was so easy, she could have figured it out on her own. The Great Binding itself was so complex, she couldn’t hope to reproduce it, but changing the power source wasn’t difficult at all. She braided the threads together, into a single thick rope, and drew it toward her.

  Then, with one decisive movement, she closed the connection, accepting the threads deep inside her being. With her next heartbeat, she felt power flowing out of her like a warm wave. It happened again, and again, regular pulses of energy passing along the threads to keep the Great Binding intact. In the real world, she fell to her knees, one hand still touching the standing stone. She felt the prisoner quiet again, settling once more into slumber. As the binding stabilized, the drain on her energy grew less, though she still felt weak and feverish. Nevertheless, when she opened her eyes, she felt a rising sense of triumph.

  I did it. The binding was whole and secure, the prisoner trapped. And I’m still alive. Ending had said the drain on her power might be enough to kill her, but after the first jolt she hardly felt it at all. I beat them. We beat them.

  She got to her feet, a little shakily, and turned around with a grin. “It worked. It’s done.”

  Dex gave a whoop. “It’s done!”

  “It’s done.” Ending turned to face her siblings. “I told you she was strong enough.”

  The labyrinthine were all talking at once, a chatter of animal voices. Michael stepped toward Alice, adjusting his glasses.

  “Now what?” he said.

  “Now we have a new world to build,” Alice said. “Where Readers don’t have to enslave others to gain their power. I’m hoping Ending can take us straight home, instead of having to sail all the way back. And then, I’m going to sleep for a week.”

  “I told Cyan to wait by the steps,” Michael said. “I’ll have to go and get him.” He lowered his voice. “But I meant what now for them. Do you trust them?”

  “They owe us their freedom,” Alice said, looking around. Several of the labyrinthine—the goat, the eagle, and the centipede—had come closer.

  “We do,” the centipede said, in a ratcheting, clicking voice. “For the first time in two millennia, we are free.”

  “We can live as we please,” the eagle said.

  “Our labyrinths can spread,” the goat said. “Until they cover the whole of the world.”

  “And every other living being is within our grasp,” clicked the centipede. “Ours to rule.”

  “No,” Alice said. “You don’t get it. We will work together. It’s no good tearing down the Readers only to put yourselves in their place.”

  The eagle cocked its head, as though it didn’t understand.

  They’ve lived two thousand years as slaves, Alice thought. Be patient. “Ending can explain it. Readers and magical creatures will live as partners.”

  “Is that what you told her?” the goat said, looking over Alice’s shoulder.

  “I did,” Ending rumbled. “I must apologize for my siblings, Alice. They are a little . . . uncivilized.”

  “We’ll have to teach them,” Alice said. “I know.”

  “Your faith is touching,” Ending said dryly. “But I don’t expect they’ll learn easily.”

  “I think we can do it.” Alice smiled, but her grin faded as Ending stared at her in silence, lip curled to reveal her fangs, tail twitching. “Can’t we?”

  “You’ve done better than I could ever have hoped,” Ending said. “And I can’t thank you enough. But I must admit, I too am feeling a bit uncivilized.”

  “You—” Alice looked around. “You can’t mean you agree with them.”

  “I find that I do. We labyrinthine were meant for this. We will reshape the world to our liking. If the cursed Readers hadn’t interfered, we would have done it long ago.”

  It felt as though the floor were crumbling beneath her. The Dragon told me not to trust her. But Ending was the only one who had helped her when she needed it most. She remembered Ending comforting her in the library, the warm, musty smell of her and the softness of her fur. She can’t mean it. Not after all this time.

  “What about being partners? Readers and magical creatures together?”

  “I’m afraid I lied about that,” Ending rumbled. “We labyrinthine are deceitful creatures.”

  “But—” There was a pain in Alice’s chest, as though the words had been a physical blow. She glanced at the standing stone. “I can’t let you. You know I can’t. I control the Great Binding now, and—”

  “Ah. There we have the crux of the problem.” Ending’s lip curled back farther. “My siblings and I would like to be done with Readers. For good. Which means that this is good-bye, Alice. Once again, my thanks for playing your part to perfection.”

  Time seemed to slow down. Alice lunged for the stone, trying to touch it, even for a moment, and rend the binding to pieces. But faster than she could move, faster than thought, blackness poured out from Ending and surrounded her. Over the labyrinthine’s shoulder, she could see similar pools of darkness forming at the feet of Flicker and the other apprentices.

  “Alice!” Ashes screamed, a high, desperate yowl.

  Then the world was a blur as Alice was sucked downward, falling into endless darkness.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE VOID

  ALL AROUND HER, THERE was nothing.

  Except it wasn’t even nothing. Nothing implies emptiness, and emptiness implies a space that has the possibility of fullness, too. This was less than nothing, no space, no emptiness, no possibilities. The universe had contracted to the size of a pinhead, and Alice filled it completely. She was the only thing that existed, or could exist.

  She wasn’t sure if she had a body or not. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see or hear, couldn’t feel anything. All she had was her thoughts, whirling around and around like a snake devouring its own tail, faster and faster.

  “Our labyrinths can spread . . .”

  “The labyrinthine lie as naturally as breathing . . .”

  “I’m afraid I lied about that . . .”

  “She is dangerous, little sister . . .”

  “You can’t trust Ending. You can’t trust any of them . . .”

  It’s a horrible thing, thought the tiny, still piece of herself in the center of the growing maelstrom, to feel yourself going mad.

  Her father’s face, frowning in disappointment. But maybe it’s what I deserve.

  “Alice.”

  It took her a moment to realize that the voice hadn’t come from within herself. To remember that it was possible for something to be outside herself.

  “Who . . .” She couldn’t speak, only think. But it was enough. An image swam into her mind.

  An eye, silver and enormous.

  “Where am I?” Alice said.

  “Nowhere.” The voice was deep, but Alice thought it was female. “You are in the void beyond space.”

&n
bsp; “Where are you?”

  “Locked away. In the ward you call the Great Binding.”

  “You’re the prisoner.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how can you speak to me?”

  “I am asleep, which means I can dream. In dreams, I can sometimes slip my bonds, for a short time.”

  “Ending said something about time. About a perfect prison for the old Readers.”

  “Yes. They are in the void, as you are, but not. For them, time has stopped. But Ending could not deny you time, because she needs you to power the Great Binding.”

  “What about the others? My friends?”

  “They are with the old Readers. For them not an instant has passed since they were cast into the void.”

  “And . . .” Alice hesitated. She wanted desperately for the voice to keep speaking to her. She was a lifeline, a fragile hold to keep Alice’s mind from fracturing in its self-generated whirlpool. She didn’t want to say anything to make her leave. But . . . “Who are you?”

  “I am the Labyrinthine.”

  “You’re one of the labyrinthine?” That made no sense. “Then why are they so afraid of you?”

  “Not ‘one of.’ I am the Labyrinthine. The source of them, the creator of them.” The voice paused. “You may call me the First.”

  “The First?” Alice said. “You’re their . . . mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “How? What happened to you?”

  “I came to your world long ago,” the First said. “It is very . . . different from my own. More physical. More real. I gloried in it. I had known nothing like the life that inhabited your world, and I strove to understand it. I took the creatures that inhabited your world, and I combined them with a piece of my own essence, to observe the results.

  “I meant no harm. I was curious.”

  “You created the labyrinthine.”

  “Yes. At first I did not understand anything. Day and night, life and death, all of it meant nothing to me. Your world was a puzzle box that I tried to unravel. At times I fear I did . . . a great deal of damage. But, slowly, I learned. About joy, and life, but also about pain, and loss. To understand that other creatures—humans, life made of something as plain and coarse as matter, so different from myself—could feel as I did, and even feel things that I had never imagined . . .” The First trailed off. “It was not an easy thing for me to comprehend.”